Hogwarts: Don't Starve in the Forbidden Forest Chapter 22 22: Watch Your Shadow

Kane whipped his head around. It was indeed Professor McGonagall.

He let go instantly. Boleyn Arella collapsed into a heap on the cold stone floor, showing no signs of actual suffocation, though he remained curled in a ball, clutching his head and groaning in pain.

"Mr. Kane Heath, I believe I require an explanation as to what has transpired here!" McGonagall's eyes were sharp enough to cut glass as she stared him down.

Kane glanced at the whimpering pile on the floor. "Perhaps, Professor, you should ask the second architect of this event... Mr. Arella. I'm sure he rembers the 'before and after' much more clearly than I do."

McGonagall strode over to Arella. She perford a quick diagnostic check and found his vitals were stable, though there was a lingering, oily residue of Dark Magic in the air.

Well... knowing what she did from Dumbledore about Kane's unique "condition," she wasn't about to crucify the boy just yet. She cast a cooling charm, allowing the excess blood in Arella's head to drain back into his body.

"Now," McGonagall said slowly, standing between the two boys. "I am standing between you and Mr. Heath. You may tell your version of events. However, I will be questioning more than just you, so I expect the truth. Even if Mr. Heath attacked you, it is no excuse to omit your own provocations."

Kane tilted his head. McGonagall was fair, but Kane wanted to save everyone the breath of a long-winded debate. He decided to ensure Mr. Arella's honesty was... absolute.

With a silent flick of his will, the shadows cast by the torches behind McGonagall began to ripple. They detached from the wall, twisting and tearing themselves into jagged, spectral English letters right in front of Arella's wide eyes.

"WATCH YOUR... SHADOW. TELL... THE TRUTH!"

To Arella, the shadow beneath his own feet suddenly looked like an abstract bear trap. He felt that if the hunter nad Kane Heath so much as willed it, those shadows would snap shut and sever whatever part of him they were touching.

The primal urge to stay alive took over. Arella sang like a canary.

McGonagall listened as the story unfolded: from Trevor the toad jumping on his head, to Hermione defending Neville, to him calling her a "Mudblood."

He admitted that he'd been quite confident in his pre-school studies; he could have handled Neville and a Muggle-born girl easily.

But then Kane had intervened. After a few insults, Kane's shadows had simply "caressed" him into submission.

As the explanation continued, McGonagall's expression grew darker by the second. She turned back to Kane. "Is this accurate?"

"He's being surprisingly honest," Kane noted, raising an eyebrow.

"Mr. Arella, for the use of a foul slur against a fellow student, five points will be deducted from your house once you are sorted. Miss Granger, for your courage in defending Mr. Longbottom, five points shall be awarded to your house."

"Mr. Longbottom, please keep a better eye on your... toad. And finally, Mr. Heath."

McGonagall looked at Kane and let out a weary sigh. "I admire your intent to protect your classmates, but your thods were excessively cruel. Please apologize to Mr. Arella."

Kane shrugged. "No problem."

He stepped toward the trembling boy and bowed—a slow, deliberate motion. However, he kept his chin up, his gaze never leaving Arella's. "Mr. Arella, I apologize for my... impulsive behavior."

The apology was delivered in a voice so cold it made the torches flicker. Arella didn't just accept it; he practically fell backward. He couldn't feel his legs anymore, but he certainly found his voice.

"I accept! I accept your apology! And I—I'm sorry too! I shouldn't have said those things! Mr. Heath, please, accept my apology as well!" Arella stamred, looking like he wanted to vanish into the floorboards.

"Hmm... I accept," Kane said, straightening up and looking down at the heap that was a "proud pure-blood" monts ago.

To any onlooker, this didn't look like a boy apologizing to a victim. It looked like a victim begging a dark lord for rcy.

"C-can I stand up now?" Arella asked, trembling.

"You're the one who's too scared to move, not ," Kane said dismissively. He turned his back on Arella and walked back into the crowd to find Harry and Ron.

"Kane, you're the man," Ron whispered, holding out a fist and popping a thumb up.

"Keep it on the down-low," Kane replied. He noticed the crowd was moving, led by McGonagall into the Great Hall.

They stopped in front of a small wooden stool. Sitting on it was an old, patched, fraying hat. Kane recognized it imdiately—it was the sa one that sat on a shelf in Dumbledore's office.

No way, Kane thought. So it wasn't a secret 'battle royale' test in the hall? It's just... a hat?

He looked at Maxwell, who was standing nearby, watching the hat with interest. Kane realized he'd just spent twenty minutes acting like a nacing dark wizard because of Maxwell's "theory."

Then, the hat opened its mouth—or a rip that looked like one—and began to sing.

The song was... an acquired taste. Once it finished, McGonagall unrolled a long piece of parchnt. "The Sorting Ceremony will now begin. Hannah Abbott!"

A girl with blonde pigtails stepped up. The mont the hat touched her head, it shouted: "HUFFLEPUFF!"

The hall erupted in applause. Kane clapped along, but he hissed at Maxwell out of the corner of his mouth. "So 'brilliant theory' that was. I made a total scene for nothing."

Maxwell crossed his arms. "You should be proud. You were smart enough not to tell your friends your theory, or you'd be the one looking like an idiot right now. Instead, you just look like a hero."

"I still feel like a tool," Kane muttered.

"Hmph."

"Don't 'hmph' . Is the Constant so boring that you have to haunt all day?"

"As you wish." With a soft pop only Kane could hear, Maxwell vanished.

Finally, Kane settled in to watch the rest of the sorting. He felt a hand tap his shoulder and turned around, expecting Harry.

Instead, he was t with the face of a lazy, sprawling, and remarkably ugly toad staring him right in the eyes.

Kane's voice cracked in a rare mont of genuine terror as he blurted out a string of profanity: "HOLY—CRAP!"

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